The Girl Who Wasn’t Supposed to Speak

Kairo didn't sleep that night.

He sat by his window with Selene's letter still unopened, Lina's words echoing in his head, and memories of eleven girls who once smiled at him through his lens and vanished one by one.

He was haunted—by eyes, laughter, and unanswered questions.

But that morning, something broke the loop.

His phone lit up.

A name he hadn't seen in over a year.

Amaya Dela Cruz.

The twelfth.

She wasn't supposed to exist anymore. She'd blocked him on everything. She'd left him the shortest goodbye note of all:

"It's not your fault. But I can't survive you."

He stared at the message.

"We need to talk. I remember everything now."

They met in a library downtown. It was quiet, sterile, and nothing like the kind of place emotions usually lived in.

Amaya looked thinner. Her eyes had lost their shine—but not their fire.

Kairo sat down slowly across from her. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I didn't think I'd ever want to see me again," she said softly.

He blinked. "What happened to you, Amaya?"

She reached into her bag and pulled out a polaroid. Faded. A little damaged.

It was a photo of the two of them—laughing in a rainstorm. He remembered taking it by accident, the shutter clicking as she splashed him with water. It had been one of their best days.

"I didn't take this," he whispered. "I never even saw this one."

"No," she said. "Because you didn't develop it. Someone else did. Someone who's been watching you longer than you know."

Kairo felt his pulse spike. "Selene?"

Amaya shook her head slowly.

"No. Someone older. Someone closer. Someone who's been pulling the strings behind all of this."

Kairo leaned in. "Who?"

Amaya lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Her name is Vera. She's your mother's sister."

He froze.

"My aunt?" he breathed. "That doesn't make sense. She died when I was ten."

Amaya stared at him, then slid something across the table.

A photo.

Recent.

In it: an older woman standing outside a photo gallery. Staring at him from across the street.

"You were wrong," Amaya said. "You thought you were the curse."

"But someone's been cursing you all along."

Kairo didn't text either of them.

He called.

Lina answered first, her voice cautious. "Kairo?"

"We need to talk," he said.

Selene arrived five minutes after Lina. The tension between them hadn't softened—if anything, it had thickened, like a storm just waiting for thunder.

Kairo stood in front of them, holding the polaroid Amaya had given him in one hand and the opened letter from Selene in the other.

"I saw Amaya," he said.

That silenced them both.

Selene sat down first. "She's alive?"

"She remembers everything now. More than I ever knew. And she told me… this wasn't just bad luck. Or heartbreak. Or me being careless."

He set the photo on the table between them.

A grainy shot of an older woman—gray streaked hair, a pale scarf, and sharp eyes full of secrets—watching him from across the street.

"My aunt. Vera."

Lina frowned. "But your mom said she died, didn't she?"

"She disappeared," Kairo said. "When I was ten. We thought she died in an accident. But she didn't. She just… vanished from our lives. And apparently, she didn't vanish from mine."

Selene picked up the photo. "This is the woman I saw at the gallery opening. She kept looking at your photos, especially the ones of the girls. She told me… 'He never learns.'"

Lina's voice dropped. "Why would she do this? What does she want?"

Kairo looked down, the pieces finally falling together.

"She was a photographer too," he said. "She taught me how to hold a camera. But she believed… photos didn't just capture moments. She believed they held on to things. Emotions. Attachments. Even people."

Selene's eyes widened. "You think she cursed your photos."

"I think… she cursed me through them," Kairo said. "And every girl I loved—she followed them. Watched them. Broke them. Made sure I couldn't keep anything whole."

Lina stood up slowly. "But why?"

Kairo met her eyes, haunted. "Because I loved her once. As a kid, I looked up to her more than anyone. And then she left. Without warning. Without explanation. And maybe… maybe she never forgave me for letting her go."

Selene's fingers trembled as she held the photo. "She didn't just want to hurt you."

"She wanted to prove that anyone I loved would fall apart," Kairo said quietly. "And she used my own camera to do it."

For the first time, Selene and Lina both looked at him—not as a man they wanted, but as a boy who had been broken long before they arrived.

And somewhere, behind the lens of every heartbreak…

A shadow had been watching.

Waiting.

Smiling.

They met at dawn.

Kairo, Selene, and Lina stood in the quiet glow of early morning at the edge of the old industrial district. The city hadn't fully woken yet, but every shadow felt alive—every silence too full.

"She used to have a studio here," Kairo said, leading them down an alley littered with broken glass and memories. "My mom never talked about it after she left, but I remembered the red door."

They found it.

Boarded up. Tagged with graffiti. Forgotten by time—except by the one woman who never truly left.

Selene knelt down by the lock. "Still fresh."

Lina scanned the alley. "Then she's been here recently."

They pried the boards away and stepped into the dust-choked darkness. Kairo's flashlight cut through the gloom, revealing walls lined with photos—dozens of them, maybe hundreds.

But they weren't of Vera.

They were of Kairo.

Him as a child. Him at school. Him holding his first camera. Him kissing Maren. Him laughing with Lina. Him walking Selene home.

"She's been watching you your entire life," Lina whispered.

Selene stepped forward, tracing one of the frames with her fingertips. "She's not just watching. She's documenting. Like she's building a story."

Kairo clenched his fists. "A story where I lose everyone I care about."

As they moved deeper inside, the photos shifted.

Girls. Faces. Smiles. Cracks. Tears.

Each image was labeled only with a name and a date.

Maren — Vanished.

Elina — Withdrawn.

Amaya — Memory Erased.

Selene — In Progress.

Lina — Retained.

Lina read the last one aloud, her voice tight. "Retained? What does that mean?"

"It means she hasn't broken you yet," Selene muttered.

Kairo turned to them both. "This isn't just about hurting me. She's treating this like an experiment."

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the back of the studio.

Slow. Raspy. Familiar.

"Not an experiment, Kairo."

They spun around.

From the shadows, Vera stepped out.

Alive. Calm. Holding an old camera like it was a weapon made of memory.

"It's an art piece."